To end god
by Stylus of Gold
Summary: 9 and one gun for God. But how do you kill God? Why do you kill god? For freedom or for vengeance? For power or for pride? For others or yourself? Should you kill God? 9 and one gun for God.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1–Who kills god?

AN: 3 things I need to get down before we begin.  
1: This work contains more fandoms & characters than I could list with the publishing system.  
2: I do not own any of the characters or works in this fanfic. Especially not the Bible, I definetly don't own that.  
3: This first chapter is told from the perspective of The Devil/Lucifer, and is not exactly kind to God/Jahweh. Those who are prone to getting offended by religious blasphemy are advised that this story will likely offend. So in other words, if the idea of a cold, manipulative, mortal god offends you religiously, then I don't blame you, and would recommend you read a different story.

Lucifer surveyed the world around him from his view on the penthouse of the Belllagio hotel. He was sick of it. The corruption. The pollution. The religion.

_If only these guys could stop clinging to the old ways and move forward. Oh, they've moved forward in technology, that much is for sure. But they still hold on to antiquated beliefs. Selfishness. Hatred. Prejudice. The faith that god'll fix everything, most of all that. Jaweh, you crazy bastard. You really screwed these people, didn't you? _Reminiscing, he checked his watch. _8:30. I still have some time yet before the event._ Sipping his cappuccino, he continued his musings.

We set out to build something great. _You and I, Jaweh and Lucifer, some of the only great magicians to come out of this world, we returned here to lift civilization up. You were always the mover, the shaker, the leader. So of course the primitives considered you a god, while I was the prophet, the angel, or whoever you, no, whoever they needed me to be. It was always about them. Adam. Eve. Noah. The people of the Black Sea and later of Israel. They were our chosen, our people. It was always about them._  
_Then something happened._ He sighed to himself. He still didn't know why, but he knew it had happened. He looked up, out the window which he would soon go through, to the place where the sky was just beginning to darken.

_You started not just being thought of as a god, but demanding they worship you as God. That they sacrifice their animals, their children to you. You used our spells to perform miracles of destruction; knocking down the walls of whatever city the increasingly-warlike people wanted to take next.  
Always the loyal servant I followed you. We used magic undreamt of in scale to shake the foundations of the earth. Now I'm burned out. I didn't even have enough magic to mend that ship's hull after it hit the iceberg. You on the other hand, you keep sticking your hand into people's minds, turning them into your new prophets, getting them to hold these people back. Starting wars. Fomenting hate._  
_I remember when you caused those plagues, no when we caused those plagues. _Lucifer thought.

_No. When we caused those plagues. That was when I caught on. That was when I left. Then you had them make that new church policy; anyone who associated with me was a sinner, I was the devil, Satan, I and my followers must be hunted. Very clever._

Now though… Now I will end your tyranny over these people. They should be left on their own, to make their own decisions, not controlled and manipulated by you. He checked his watch, and looked up. The moon over Las Vegas had been eclipsed.

_Now's the time. The beginning of your downfall, Jahweh. I hope you're ready._

Lucifer stood up, ran towards the window, and ran through it. Without smoke, without sound, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2–The master of assassins

Ezio Auditore ran along the rooftops of Constantinople. The moon had gone out, just as it was the ottomans had taken the city. He was now fleeing a group of templar lackies, losing them fast. This was the fourth time this week these guys had chased him, but he was getting closer to his quarry day by day. He saw one in front of him aim a musket. _Where did he come from, I wonder?_ thought Ezio, then tackled and put his blade through the man's throat. But he didn't. Something stopped him, and he felt himself falling down, hitting the pavement.

Ezio awoke in a soft bed. There was a man above him. He recognized this man… He'd seen him in one of Leonardo's drawings, yes, but he didn't remember which.

"Who are you?" He asked suspiciously. "Have I been captured?"

"No." was all the other man responded with.

"Who are you?" Ezio noticed his blade was still on him; he could still fight his way out if it came to that, though as he glanced around, he noticed that the room around him was… odd. It had plaster walls, a harsh, artificial lighting, and a bed that was too soft by half. The strange yet familiar man was tanned, with wavy yet somewhat unkept hair and black eyes. He wore a white shirt, a black jacket, black pants and an odd lozenge-shaped piece of black fabric on his chest and neck, as well as the smallest watch Ezio had ever seen. He overall seemed quite drab.

"Who are you?" Ezio demanded with as much force as he could, sitting up as he did so.

"You have known me by many names. Before I reveal them, I must tell you a few truths." The strange yet familiar man responded, but his face betrayed nothing. He was almost like a statue.

"Fine. Tell me." Ezio felt fine, and he was willing to listen to this man.

"Your cause is just. Your fight is right. But… there is a greater fight that needs you. One target, who has single-handedly put a veil over the eyes of a whole world." The strange man said.

"A templar?", Ezio asked.

"No. You see, Ezio, the templars are… useful to him, so he helps them, makes their job easier. But no, he's not a templar. He is the source of their power. The oppressor of man. God.", as the man said the last word, it Ezio's eyes widened. He was sure he'd heard wrong; it was impossible.

"You want me to kill god–", He began.

"Yes.", interrupted the man "Without god, there would be no Catholic Church, no divine right to rule, no templars. I want you to help me end the oppression of man." As Ezio looked into his eyes, he saw the man was absolutely serious, and his "sense" indicated the man was friend to him.

"Bene. But, one thing. Where do I know you from?"

"Ezio, you know me by many names. Abraham, Jesus Chris, Satan, and, most recently, the Vitruvian Man. But my real name is Lucifer."

"Bene."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3–The disciple of death

"Farewell, Arya Stark." And with that, Jaqen H'gar was gone, and The Servant returned to Braavos. However, along the way, he would receive his greatest job yet. In his dreams, the many-faced god approached him in rags and tatters, a scythe in hand and a hood over his head, as was often the case when he received an assignment. "You have a new task" Began his master in a raspy tone, "You must follow a man known to others as Lucifer. He will tell you that the time is now, and you must then follow all his instructions in order to give The Gift to his associate, Jahweh."

The Servant silently thanked his god, and awoke.  
He was aboard a trading cog, the skies were dark, and the moon had disappeared. The quarters he was in were small, but serviceable. A bed, a chamber pot and a wardrobe were more than enough for The Servant.

He was Brandon, a stocky old mercenary from the vale, white hair and black eyes, stained linen tunic, leather boots and woollen breeches. He told tales to the other sailors of the battles he had on the trident; how he had made a fortune from and lost his leg to a young nobleman in his youth, how he wanted to use some of the last of that fortune to go and see The Titan before he died. He kept his demeanour lively, and no-one ever suspected it was but a mask.

None but one. He could see it, this man, he knew who The Servant was. The man with the tanned golden skin, the mussed blonde hair, the eyes dark as Brandon's, who the light always seemed to radiate from. He needed only wait for the signal.

It came three days from the port of Braavos. The tanned man walked up to him and said "It is time." The Servant tilted his head. "What would you have a man do?" he asked.  
"Come, away from these sailors." the tanned man commanded. They went to his quarters, and as The Servant passed through the old splintered door, he found himself somewhere else.


	4. The reliquary

Chapter 4–The reliquary

AN: I started writing this spontaneously on Nov. 11th, as somewhat of a Remembrance Day thing. It's an interruption of the rest of the story, but hey, Remembrance Day is important, and I thought it crass to publish another chapter of assassin recruitment on November 11th.

* * *

Lucifer wandered his sanctuary. It was a nexus, a fortress built between the planes by him and Jahweh with portals to aid in their interplanar travels. It had taken them centuries to build this, and Lucifer, with his powerful magic, was the only one who could get there. Jahweh had trusted him, that much was sure.

However, after all his miracles, he'd found it increasingly difficult to get here, and around 300 years ago it became impossible. Now with the planes realigned it was easy, and would be for the next few days. Gathering his force hadn't proven tough so far, but he wasn't thinking of that anymore. He'd entered the reliquary.

The reliquary was a cold, grey stone room filled with treasure, artifacts, memorabilia and dust he and Jahweh had collected. He'd converted this from a treasury to a museum.  
He looked around, saw the antique art which would finance him now that he'd disappeared from his job at the Thomson and sons law firm.  
He glanced over the artifacts of magical power which lay scattered around, so useful on other planes but like his powers stunted on Earth.  
His eyes rested on a black-and-white photograph taken on Arcanum when he and Jahweh had been students there. The college had turned to dust and Arcanum had fallen to ruin long ago, Jahweh and Lucifer the only legacy of the multiverse's ergo greatest civilization.

He turned and faced the back wall, walked to his shelf. This was the reminder shelf. The remembrance shelf.  
He picked up a glazed earthenware jar, one of the last remnants of the Philistines whose destruction he'd helped cause with an enchanted stone.

Putting it down, he looked up at the tabard, white with a red cross and a bloodstain on the shoulder, crusader's garb from a crusade of his causing, unknowingly in his name.  
A helm from when the church tore itself apart in thirty years of bloodshed over how to interpret the word of one who preached love.

The Malleus Maleficarum, a book which had ordered the deaths of thousands of free-thinkers in his name.  
A portrait of Pope Leo X, who used the church for his own pleasure.  
A model Holy Grail; a non-existent cup which knights had fought and died for meaninglessly for centuries.

He took up a sack which had been on his arm, and put new items on the shelf.  
The Bible, written in his name and obsessed over ever since.  
The Torah, the original proof of his and Jahweh's failure.  
The Qur'an, another interpretation of what he and Jahweh had done.

A bust of Galileo.  
A B-movie on the Salem witch trials.  
A model of the twin towers.

Finally, he looked up, and stared at the crucifix, the ultimate expression of his failure. All the wars he'd caused in his compliance, all the wars he'd caused in his defiance. Lucifer had smiled at the time, his simulacrum nailed to the cross, him watching from afar. He was sure he'd broken the hold of hate, the hold of ignorance. He'd done the preaching, he'd gotten the followers, he'd "died" a martyr, everything had gone just as planned.

But that had been what Jahweh had wanted. He had the fervour, but Jahweh directed it into the world's largest religion, and so his greatest act of defiance till now was his greatest defeat.

_I need to right all these wrongs. I will avenge the death, the destruction, and then I will build a new world, _thought Lucifer._ I won't fail this time._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5–A true professional

The Sniper had been waiting here, eyes on his scope, face-down in the dirt, for 20 hours on nothing but coffee and Australian grit. Jars were filling up next to him.  
In about 20 minutes, he would make a shot. He'd bullseye it as usual, then he'd go back and collect payment from his employer, who he'd introduce to a mean machete if he tried to cheat him. Not that he thought he would, he just needed a plan to kill everyone he met.

21 minutes later, a shot rang out. One man fell down. One man payed up. One man drove off $10,000 richer. Simple job, really. Nothing too special, as boring and easy as a campfire in the rain, but it payed the bills.

He got a phone call, asking him to meet someone at the All Night Café at a quarter past eleven for the possibility of a million-dollar job. Cautiously tucking his micro-uzi into his shoulder holster, he drove there. Million-dollar job, now that's somethin'. Like as not a trap, but I've seen my share of traps, and you don't turn down that kind of money.

The Sniper walked into the café. There were around ten people there, and he made general plans on how he'd shoot each one of them. A semitic, wavy-haired blonde man in a faded suit with the confident posture of an armed, dangerous man got up and waved at him. The Sniper sat down on the booth. He noticed a metal briefcase next to the semitic guy.

"Ever wondered if you could shoot God?" asked the semitic man nonchalantly.  
"What did you jus-say Mate?" Asked The Sniper, "Nev'r wondered that, coz I know I can." A little boasting was always nice, and he wanted to impress this apparently very rich client.

Chuckling to himself, Lucifer felt a pang of regret at handing away the $1,000,000 he'd got by selling those religious relics, but hey, he didn't need them anyways.  
"Good. You've been hired. One million dollars up front, and in exchange you work with my team and we kill God."

The Sniper considered this offer. Kill god? That man's crazy as an aborigine in the outback! But you can't just bloody well turn down a million dollars up front… As he accepted the briefcase and said "Sure thing, mate.", he wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

A couple hours later, driving through some portal into a musty estate surrounded by the bottomless void, he almost started wishing he hadn't accepted.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6–The Devil meets the devil

"Mr. Sozé can't attend you today", said Kaiser Sozé, wondering who this guy was and how he'd tracked him down. He had wavy blond hair, a semitic complexion, killer's hands, and an expensive suit that had seen better days. "I'll tell him what you said."  
"Alright, let's cut to the chase. I need your boss to help me kill god." Lucifer was annoyed. This Sozé may be good, but he's so arrogant to send some lackey to talk with him.  
"I need his planning, his resources, his ruthlessness, and I'm willing to reward–"  
"But killing God, that's a joke! I knew this really good comedian once, uh, Pogliacci he called himself. He made a joke, real funny. He said–  
"Look, tell Mr. Sozé that the devil wants his name back."

"So, you want to call in your favour, eh Lucy?", asked Sozé, his face at once putting on a knowing smirk.  
"Only Sozé knows–" started Lucifer, sounding surprised.  
"You never met Kaiser Sozé. You met a stand-in who told me the whole story. When you came in here talking about offing god, I thought it might be you. So, you want my help to take down big G? You got it."

Lucifer didn't question it, but he wondered why Sozé accepted such a dangerous request without hesitation. He wondered what this man had to gain from killing God, and hoped he wouldn't live to get it, but he needed Sozé for this.  
_This is a greater thing than anything you've ever done, Lucifer. You mustn't count the cost until it's done._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7–A Thief extraordinaire

A letter arrived in Danny Ocean's Dropbox. He picked it up. To: Daniel K. Ocean. From: Mr. Sozé.

His hands trembling for the first time in years, Danny Ocean opened the letter.

_Daniel, _it began, _it is time for you to pay for all the help I've given you._

_Sure,_ thought Danny, _all you've done for me is not screw me over._

He continued reading. _I saw that plan you made. Good plan. We need to get into a facility, and for that we need a plan, so you're hired. Meet me at the twelfth street lot, alone, and we can discuss the terms of your employment._

_Sincerely, Kaiser Sozé._

_Huh. He left out the "I'm Kaiser Sozé. I know where you live, I can kill Tess and everyone you know and love" part. How nice of him._

Left out or not, it was still there. It was always there, like a scratching at the back of his mind, a knife gently pressed against his shirt, not quite touching his skin. A knife held by a man he could neither see nor hear, yet he knew was always there.  
It was all he could do to tell himself it was just his shirt being scratchy, all he could do to not think about it, but he always needed to know it was there, because more than once, he'd felt it press ever so slightly harder, and that was when he got out of whatever he was doing, and felt it relax again.

So when the man with the knife finally speaks to you, finally tells you what he wants, you don't question it. You just do it.

A middle-aged man in a suit waited for him at the twelfth street lot, nodded as he approached, led him into a car where he couldn't see the front seats nor the world outside, and started driving.

_Gotta keep cool. My wits, that's all I got. Gotta keep those, or I'm nothing._

The door opened. Danny stepped out and was greeted by the middle aged man, a semitic, wavy haired man in an old suit with ancient, knowing eyes and a short, limping guy next to him who looked somewhat silly, but Danny could almost feel the authority he held.

He entered an old apartment building, neither condemned nor inhabited, and after closing the door, the semitic man started talking to him.  
"Mr. Ocean, we'd like to get this over with quickly, so we'll cut to the chase. We need your planning, your conning, and your aptitude with break-ins to get into a facility, in which we will then insert our agents to kill God."  
"Did I just stumble into FantasyLand?" asked Ocean, talking almost as fast as he thought, "You want me to help you commit murder? Against God? You're nuts."  
The limping man spoke up "Yes, we do. And you will help us, Mr. Ocean."  
"No way," Danny responded. Then the semitic man spoke again, "God is an oppression. God is a con, just like you. He's been running the greatest scheme the world's ever known and trampling on everyone to get his way. It's time we end that scheme, and the only way to do that is to end his life. We need you, and though I'd've preferred to get you willingly, the fact is you're in no position to refuse."  
The man's voice was adamant, and his eyes were hard as iron as spoke these words.

"Fine," Danny shrugged, resigned, "you got me."


End file.
